


Attitude Adjustment

by TheseusInTheMaze



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Crying, D/s, D/s — Domming Someone For Their Own Good (Whether They Want It Or Not), F/F, Forced Apology, Humiliation, Non-Con - Receiving Nonconsensual Cunnilingus and Having Multiple Orgasms, Slight Mommy Domme, Spanking otk for punishment in relationship, Threats to Life and Property
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:22:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28654188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: Clara comes home to an unexpected visitor.
Relationships: Missy/Clara Oswin Oswald
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39
Collections: Bulletproof 20/21





	Attitude Adjustment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [allyoops](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyoops/gifts).



> I took a few liberties with the layout of Clara's apartment, apologies!
> 
> Thank you so much for these _excellent_ prompts!

Clara knew that something was up as soon as she walked into her flat. She wasn't able to explain how, exactly, she knew - maybe it was some innate teacher sense she had developed to sense mobile phones under desks, or hear the crinkle of a chocolate bar wrapper. 

She stepped through the door, and dropped her keys in the little bowl by the door. Then she paused. Something was on the edge of her senses. Was it a scent? Almost like walking into a lift after someone wearing perfume had gotten off on the floor before. 

“Doctor?” She called, kicking her shoes off. “We had a whole conversation about you showing up and rifling through my drawers. And don't say you don't, you fold my knickers weird."

"Is he really going through your underwear drawers? I thought he'd gotten out of that habit." 

Clara froze. She would know that voice anywhere. 

"Aren't you supposed to be dead?" _Good job, Clara. Keeping calm._ Missy seemed to be sitting on Clara’s couch. 

“Oh, that’s for other people.” Missy said, her tone airy. “Do come in, dearie, don’t need to gawp like that.” 

“You can’t know I’m gawping if you can’t see my face,” Clara said, because the terror and grief and _rage_ could be kept at bay if her mouth was running. 

“I don’t have to see it,” Missy said. “Just because _you_ don’t have the telepathic ability that a Gallifreyan three year old was born with doesn’t mean the rest of us are so lacking.” There was a rustling sound. “Now come in and let Mummy see you, there’s a dear.” A click, then; “if you don’t, I will blast a hole through this wall, you, and your neighbors down the hall with their _lovely_ little Socttish terrier. And d’you really want a Scottish terrier’s death on your hands?” 

Clara stepped into her main room, and she found Missy sitting on the sofa, resplendent, her arms over the back and her legs crossed at the ankles. She smiled at Clara, all teeth, and Clara’s heart sank down into her stomach.

“Would you _look_ at that sooky face,” Missy scolded. “Aren’t you the _eensiest_ glad to see me?” 

“You broke into my flat,” said Clara. She was still wearing her coat, and she put her hands in her pockets, for lack of anything better to do with them. She didn’t have anything to throw at Missy, didn’t really have anything to use as a weapon at all. She needed to start carrying… what, blunt objects? Sharp objects? 

“It hardly counts as breaking in if I didn’t break anything,” Missy said. “Took you long enough to get home, by the way - I got bored enough I did some dishes, rearranged your flatware.” 

_I’ll have to ask the Doctor to go over everything to make sure there aren’t any piranhas lurking amongst the forks_ , Clara thought, and that was a delirious line to follow, wasn’t it? 

“I can hear your little mind ticking away,” Missy said, and she leaned forward, elbows on her thighs. “So how about we make this a little bit simpler? I know where all your knives are - or I should say, _were_. I hid them, naturally. And I’d be shooting through you and aforementioned Scottish terrier before you could even take a step. You can’t even brain me with that heavy dictionary your stepmother gave you in university, since I know you did a whole deep clean to make room for more books that you keep telling yourself you’re going to read, but you never will.” 

“What do you want, MIssy?” Clara hated how tired she sounded, but she couldn’t seem to get that note out of her voice. How the hell did Missy even know _any_ of that. 

Who fucking knew. It was Missy. 

“A pony, my very own battle fleet, and for the Doctor to answer my texts,” Missy said promptly. “But failing that, I want you to be a good girl for me. You want to be good, don’t you?” The overhead lights cast eerie shadows across her face, and her teeth looked very sharp. 

_She’s probably doing some kind of weird mind control on me, changing my perception_ , Clara thought. _I’ve seen her face. She’s not this toothy._ “I’ve never been good a day in my life,” she said instead. 

“Well, now is as good of a time as ever to start,” said Missy, and then she tutted. “Really, Clara? Shoes on, in the house?” She gestured toward Clara’s feet. “Off with them.” 

“Excuse me?” Clara’s eyes narrowed. 

“Your shoes,” said Missy. “You’ll track mud all over your tacky little rug.” 

She stared down at her own shoes. “I haven’t got any mud on my shoes,” said Clara, which was an odd thing to zero in on, but screaming mimis always made her priorities strange. 

“Well, they’ve still been in the street. Off with them. And your coat, too. How rude of you, to stand around with a coat on indoors! You’re a very rude girl - no wonder the Doctor is so fond of you.”

“You’re seriously threatening to kill me to make me take off my shoes and my coat?” Clara’s voice was deadpan.

“Yes,” said Missy. “Yes, exactly. Now, get to it. Chop chop, your human body is dying by the second and you shouldn’t waste all your precious time on being obstinate.” She was holding… some kind of device. It might have been something that would shoot through Clara and the walls, or it might have been a Gallifreyan banana slicer. 

It really wasn’t worth testing it, was it? 

Clara shrugged out of her coat, let it land on the floor in a heap. She had to bend down to unlace her shoes, but she pulled them off, set them aside. There was something particularly vulnerable about her feet, practically bare in her thin tights. She curled her toes into the rug, and she stared down at her feet, then forced herself to look into Missy’s face. “Are you happy?”

“I’m always happy,” Missy said, and if it hadn’t been coming out of the mouth of a genocidal psychopath, Clara might have found it cheering. As it was, her stomach roiled. “You know what will make me even _happier_?” 

_Probably something that would give the average genocidal war criminal night terrors,_ thought Clara. She didn’t say anything, just looked Missy in the face.

“You’re in a sulk,” Missy said, her tone scolding. “If you don’t adjust your attitude soon, madam, it shall have to be dealt with.” She was drumming her fingers on her knee. “Apologize to me, there’s a good girl.”

“No,” said Clara. That was stupid. This was all very stupid. This would also be a _very_ good time for the Doctor to come bursting in like a benevolent tornado. 

“Apologize to me,” said Missy, “and you’ll get a treat.”

“I’m not apologizing to the person who _broke into my flat_ ,” Clara said.

“I don’t know if I’m more annoyed at you harping on about that because it’s not even the top twenty worst things I’ve done to you, or the fact that I did not, in fact, break in.” Missy was drumming her fingers, and she was frowning harder. “You‘re being a very naughty girl, do you know that?” 

The banana slicer was in her hand again, and the curved part was pointing at Clara. 

“I’ve been told that, yes,” Clara said carefully. _She probably won't’ shoot me. If only because she knows the Doctor will kill her if she does._

“Well,” said Missy, “can’t be helped, with all that ego in the way. Let’s humble you a bit, shall we? On your knees.” 

Clara raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“On your knees,” said Missy. “I want a proper apology.” She gestured with the banana slicer. 

“You’ve got to be joking,” said Clara. 

There was a whirr, a flash of light, and then the thing that was definitely _not_ a banana slicer had cut a sizable hole in Clara’s favorite chair and the wall behind it. 

_Landlord isn’t gonna be thrilled about that_ , she thought dazedly, even as she got on her knees. The rug was soft, at least. 

“Much better,” said Missy. “Now. Are you going to apologize?”

The rug was soft under her knees, and the hem of her skirt was brushing the rug. She was going to burn this rug, when all of this was over. “I’m sorry,” Clara said tonelessly.

“Put some feeling into it,” Missy scolded. “I don’t believe you’re sorry at all!”

“I’m sorry,” Clara said, and _okay_ , the feeling she was putting into it was hatred, but Missy would need to be more specific. 

“Still with the sooky look,” Missy scolded. “Your face is going to stick that way, if you keep it up.” She frowned. “We’re going to have to take drastic measures, aren’t we?”

The thing that wasn’t a banana slicer was resting on the couch beside Missy, and wasn’t being pointed at her. That was better, at least. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Clara said. 

“Come up, then,” said Missy, and she uncrossed her legs, patting her lap. “We’ll soon have you sorted out.”

“What?” Clara blinked at her. Missy couldn’t have been implying what Clara thought she was implying. 

“Over Mummy’s lap,” said Missy. “Sulky girls who don’t do as they’re told get punished. After all, do they not say you’ll spoil the child if you spare the rod?”

“You can’t be serious,” Clara said flatly. “I’m not a child.” 

“You’re acting like one,” Missy said, and she was holding the curved device again. “Well? Or am I going to have to kill your neighbors?”

Clara stood up on trembling legs, and she walked up to Missy. It was odd, to have her head up higher than the Time Lady’s, when Missy was still, _clearly_ the one with all the power. 

“Well?” Missy looked at Clara expectantly. “Get on with it, then.”

“Get on with what?” Clara was stalling for time. She _knew_ she was stalling. Missy probably knew she was stalling. Missy even knew that Clara knew that Missy knew, because fucking _Time Lords_. Time Ladies. Whatever. 

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Missy said, and she grabbed Clara by the arm. “Down you get, dear.”

Clara was yanked awkwardly across Missy’s lap, her feet digging into the couch cushions, Missy’s thighs pressing into her stomach. It was an awkward, uncomfortable position, and Missy adjusted her so that her elbows were on the couch cushions as well. The whole thing made her gawky, her legs a million miles long, her arms ungainly. 

“Just for that,” said Missy, “you’re getting extra.” She flipped back the hem of Clara’s skirt, baring her backside. She was still wearing her black tights, scant protection though they were. She took a handful of Clara’s arse, and she _squeezed_. 

“Oi!” Clara jerked against her. “Stop that!” 

“I know we’re supposed to be above such things, being a higher life form and such, but sometimes it can be satisfying to give in to the… baser instincts. Or what we think they’re supposed to be like.” She gave Clara’s other arse cheek a squeeze “The Doctor thinks about this a lot, y’know.” She gave Clara’s arse a slap, and Clara bit her lap to keep from making any noise. 

“This is below you,” Clara said, in some hope of appealing to Missy’s better impulses. Assuming she had better impulses. Another lap, right where her arse joined her thighs, and it was a sharp, painful sting. 

“No,” said Missy, “ _you’re_ below me.” Another slap. She gave a tinkling little laugh, girlish and twee, and Clara clenched her jaw. Why was everything about Missy so _grating_? 

“Can’t we just talk about this?” Clara asked, and then another hit landed on her arse.

“No,” said Missy. She tangled her other hand in Clara’s hair, using the leverage to push Clara’s face into the couch cushions. She began to rain hits down on Clara’s backside with her other hand, a rapid fire series of slaps, the hits cracking like thunderclaps.

Clara’s resolution to keep her mouth shut lasted until Missy landed a particularly vicious hit to her inner thigh. She _howled_ into the couch cushions, and she kicked her feet out. 

“Oh, sweetie,” said Missy, in a mock sympathetic tone, “I know it hurts, but you’re going to have to take your punishment.” Another hit, and Clara howled again. Her whole body was shaking, and her chest was heaving. It was harder to breathe, with Missy’s legs digging into her stomach. 

Clara was crying. It was silent, thankfully, although her shoulders were still shaking. Her wet face was sticking to the couch cushions, making her hair stick to her face. She was gasping, and the hitting seemed to get stronger, harder. Her whole body was getting warmer, and the stinging on her arse seemed to be morphing into a full body throb. 

Missy grabbed the waistband of Clara’s tights, and she shoved them down. She took Clara’s knickers with it, and Clara sobbed into the cushions, into her arms. She was trembling so hard her teeth were going to start chattering. The next hit was _sharper_ , and it seemed like the tights must have offered some protection, because this was still worse. 

“It’s not as bad as all that,” Missy scolded, as more hits ran out. Clara began to cry louder, because Missy was shoving her legs open, and hits were landing on her inner thighs, then back to the curve of her arse. It was all _jiggling_ , and she couldn’t breathe, the pain and the humiliation was all blending together into one big, mess, and somehow it was coiling up in her belly, and she was getting _wet_.

“I’m sorry,” Clara said, after some interminable amount of time, and how was she _saying_ that, to Missy of all people? How was she brought this low?

“What was that, poppet?” Missy landed a particularly hard spank on Clara’s backside, hard enough to make her howl. Where was she even _getting_ all that strength? How was she getting so much _force_?

“I”m sorry,” Clara said, a little louder. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, and she wailed, a painful hit shaking straight through her. She kicked her feet and she thrashed. “I’m sorry!”

“Tell Mummy what you’re sorry for,” Missy crooned, and she stopped hitting, grabbing a cheek of Clara’s arse and _squeezing_ , digging her thumb in. 

“I’m… s-s-sorry for… for…” Clara trailed off, because a finger was probing between her legs, and a hit was landed on the tender, curved spot where all her weight rested when she sat down. 

“For?” A harder hit, and Clara yelped.

“For… being sulky?” What was it that Missy _wanted_ from her? 

“Are you actually sorry, or are you just saying that to make me stop?” Another hit. Was it some ability Gallifreyans had, to make their hands that much _heavier_? 

“I’m sorry,” Clara gasped out. “I’m sorry!” She’d thought that she’d hold out better than this. What would the Doctor think?

_The Doctor would tell me to do what it is I need to do to get out in one piece_ , she thought, and she took some comfort from that. It might have added some kind of steel to her posture, because Missy’s hits came down faster, and Clara let herself scream, let herself cry in ways that she would have been embarrassed by, if not for the fact that it was probably keeping her alive.

“I want to hear it again,” said Missy, and she squeezed Clara’s arse so hard that it seemed to force more tears out of her face, dripping down her face. She was drooling, her nose was probably running, there was a wet spot right under her face. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, and her voice cracked, “for being sulky.”

“Good girl,” Missy cooed, and she ran her fingers through Clara’s hair. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” 

Clara shook her head, and she sniffed. She was still crying, more tears dripping down her cheeks, her jaw. She was sniffling as Missy helped her sit up, the fabric of Missy’s skirt rough against her tender backside. 

“There we go,” Missy said, her tone soothing. “There’s a good girl. Isn’t that better?” She wiped Clara’s face with a handkerchief, then caught a tear with her thumb and licked it up. 

Clara nodded, not knowing what else to do. Her backside was throbbing, her cunt was pulsing, her whole body seemed to be alive with the kind of desperation tha meant she’d want a proper session with her vibrator when she was alone. 

… after she’d scrubbed the memory of Missy’s hands off of her skin. 

“Now,” Missy said, and she patted Clara on the cheek, “good girls who take their punishments get treats. How does that sound?”

_Oh god, what does that even mean?_ Clara’s alarm must have shown on her face, because Missy tutted. 

“Oh ye of little faith,” she scolded, and then she was… setting Clara down onto the couch, sliding down onto the floor. “I’m about to blow your tiny human mind,” she said, her tone downright _gleeful_.

“You don’t… need to,” Clara said, and she tried to close her thighs as Missy settled between them. 

Clara couldn’t close her legs, with Missy planted between them. She tried to struggle as her tights and knickers were hauled down her legs, but a firm pinch to the inner thigh made her freeze. 

“None of that,” Missy scolded, and she tossed Clara’s underthings to the side. “Let’s see what we’re working with, shall we?” She forced Clara’s legs open wider, and her thumbs went to Clara’s vulva, spreading her labia. “Ooh, very nice.” Her thumb found Clara’s clit, and Clara bit back a desperate little noise, her nails digging into her own palms. 

“I’m fine, r-really,” Clara stuttered out. Her mouth fell open, and she gasped as Missy’s hot mouth closed around her clit and sucked, just this side of painful.

“Nonsense,” Missy said, when she came up for air. “I know how it is with you lower lifeforms. You need the proper kind of reinforcement, don’t you?” Her tongue was moving between Clara’s labia now, pressing into Clara’s cunt, and her thumb was on Clara’s clit, pressing down on like it was the dead man’s switch on a bomb. 

Missy’s tongue seemed to be moving everywhere at once. Lapping at her clit, fucking into her. Missy’s hands had gone to the backs of her knees, pulling her closer to the edge of the couch, until her arse was half off, and Missy’s fingers would dig in as well, hard enough to make her whimper.

Or maybe it was the pleasure that was making her whimper, her whole body on edge, her toes curling on her rug, her hips rocking forward. She tangled her fingers in her own hair, covered her own mouth, because she had a feeling grabbing Missy’s hair would result in… who knew what?

As her climax began to peek over the horizon, it occurred to her that the thing that wasn’t a Gallifreyan banana slicer was probably _right there_ there for her to grab. She tried to keep up the moaning, grunting, gasping as she reached a hand out besides her to grope around for it… only to come up with nothing.

“Nice try,” Missy said, and she didn’t even sound mad. She peeked up at Clara, and she was smirking. “You really think I’d leave something like that out in the open? Not very safe, is it?” Then her mouth was back on Clara’s clit, and Clara’s eyes rolled back in her own head. 

Clara’s first orgasm was a violent, shocking thing. When she was young, she’d stuck a penny in an outlet, and it had been the same sort of uncomfortable jolt, only this one came from her cunt and seemed to ripple outward. Her clit throbbed in Missy’s mouth, and she tried to pull her hips away, but Missy’s mouth followed, and it was just... more.

The second orgasm was, if anything, even more intense. Her hips jerked against Missy’s face, and the sweet pleasure wrung her out like a flannel. The third orgasm left her limp against the back of the couch, her chest heaving and her wet cunt fluttering around the fingers that Missy had slid into her at some point. She was almost wailing as she came and came, sweat dripping between her breasts, down the backs of her knees. 

When she had come for the… fourth time? Fifth? She was losing track, except that she couldn’t stop shaking. Missy kissed her inner thigh, then gave it a savage bite, hard enough that Clara could feel the skin bruising. She was so overstimulated that she barely even reacted, just lay on her couch, panting. 

_Missy could probably kill me_ , Clara thought dazedly, _but I don't even care._

“Well,” Missy said, and she was sitting back on her heels, dabbing at her wet mouth with that same handkerchief, “that was productive.” She stood up, and she grunted. “Oof, harder on the knees than it used to be.” She patted Clara on the head, and she gave her a very toothy grin. “Now,” Missy said, “be a good girl and remember this lesson, hm?”

Clara blinked up at her, and tried to think of the proper response. Before she could think of anything to say, Missy was fiddling with the bracelet she’d been wearing. She pressed a series of buttons, and then she was gone in a shimmering dash of light. 

Clara sat there blearily, her chest heaving, her cunt still pulsing. She was going to have a proper breakdown soon, call the Doctor, figure out what it was Missy was up to. 

But she’d give herself a few minutes to just sit there and absorb it all, as more sloppy, ugly tears dripped down her face.


End file.
